Anatomy of a House
by angelologist
Summary: Things aren't as they seem for Gregory House as he begins to show peculiar signs of poisoning. And in Las Vegas, Gil Grissom is showing some familiar symptoms. The CSI team and House's band of doctors must strive together to solve the mystery. CSIHOUSE
1. Anatomy of a House

**_Anatomy of a House _**

**written by **_lasloneitaliana _

House/CSI fanfiction

Genre: Mystery, Suspense, Romance, Comedy

Letter from author: I am so happy to finally get this going. It is a great honor to have everyone reading my stories. Also, I would like to thank InusDarkAngel, my friend since 7th grade, because she helped me formulate some wacky ideas. We brainstormed together. Thank you InusDarkAngel!

-lasloneitaliana

"You know, it's bad enough to deal with your Vicodin habit, stop upping your water consumption. We both know you're doing this to induce frequent bathroom breaks, instead of helping Mr.?"

"Vitar."

"Mr. Vitar, who is so delirious with fever that he is showing a rash that is on his buttocks, to all the single women in this hospital."

It wouldn't take a medical examination to diagnose Dr. Cuddy with hypertension and a skyrocketing blood pressure. Her face was so red it appeared violet and her hands were shaking so bad that she had lost her balance not once, but three times!

Gregory House glanced toward the aggiated man that looked as if he'd spent half of his life waiting to be seen by a doctor.

" So, what's wrong with that? Tatoo, skin irratation is one of the most frequent beginning signs of Hepatitis, probably by an infected needle." he chatted away to a still irritated Cuddy. "I've got one too. If you want, you can be my doctor and we can compare. Mine says, 'I love my Vicodin.' We have tatoos, the unshaven faces, we could start a band!"

Cuddy suddenly ushered the quivering man to a nearby wheelchair and took House by the arm into her office.

House had never seen Cuddy so upset before, and for once in his life, she made him a bit concerned when getting angry.

When he stood by the doorway, she paced back and forth until finally coming to her chair and laying her ever growing tiresome head to her desk. House leaned against the doorframe as the scene of Cuddy placing her head against her desk, became blurry. He shook his head and blinked his eyes.

"House..." she trailed off, sobbing and surrendered a few tears to dampen an employee resignation form.

She leaned up and wiped her eyes, embaressed at her reddened cheeks. Slightly intimidated, House remained silent. She sniffled and recomposed herself just in time to catch a glimpse of sympathy in House's eyes.

"Wha...What did someone do to you? Who messed you up so bad that you have to act this way? Why me, House? What the hell did I do to you? How come everyone has it in for Cuddy?"

"You lost the baby didn't you?" House blurted. Cuddy had now paced over to House's location. "Oh, House..." she said before collapsing in his arms. She sniffled into his shirt and sobbed near his neck. House remained silent.

Suddenly Allison Cameron entered the room. "The EKG came back..." she caught glimpse of Cuddy crying on House's chest. Shocked, and not wanting Cameron to get the wrong idea, House mouthed, "It's not what you think!"

Startled, Cameron apologized and sighed heavily.

"Oh, House, I was going to ask for your sperm, but..." Cuddy trailed. Cameron's eyes rounded and House shook his head 'no.'

Cameron quickly left the room, her cheeks blushing. Pushing Cuddy off of his chest, House comforted Cuddy in the only way House can. "Oh, come on, there's plenty more sperm in the sea." He pointed at a group of Italian-looking men in their fifties to Cuddy. "See. Eligible men. Why don't you go give them some special pills and go with it." And with that, House left the room in hot pursuit of Allison Cameron.

_"Take care of him or I will." _The words rang in Cuddy's ears so much that she didn't even hear House's rude comment.

She beat her fists in an angry fury on her desk. Just as the porcelin clock on her desk rang noon, her mind had drifted elsewhere. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and all that was horrible and violent, had become momentarily peaceful.


	2. Who Are You?

1**_Anatomy of a House _**

**written by **_lasloneitaliana _

House/CSI fanfiction

Genre: Mystery, Suspense, Romance, Comedy

Letter from author: I am so happy to finally get this going. It is a great honor to have everyone reading my stories. Also, I would like to thank InusDarkAngel, my friend since 7th grade, because she helped me formulate some wacky ideas. We brainstormed together. Thank you InusDarkAngel!

-lasloneitaliana

Disclaimer:  I do not own CSI or House. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfictions.

Thank you so much for all of the reviews. I greatly appreciate them! I will not tell if I am a Cameron or House shipper or a Grissom/Sara shipper...it will keep you guessing.

"Cameron...Cameron!" House called after the young doctor, but she showed no signs of slowing down. Grabbing her by the arm and slinging her around, she bumped against his chest and caught him off guard.

"What!" she said a bit to loudly. Passerbys glanced their way.

"I don't want to listen to your rash comments, your vivid and hateful descriptions of why I'm so angry-" House cupped a hand over her mouth.

"Will you just shut the hell up for a minute? Women." Cameron ended this snickering comment with a sharp smack across his stubbly cheek. House didn't respond.

"You know, this relationship is never going to work out if you continue with this abusive behavior." With that he took another swig of his water bottle and headed off to his office. In turn, Cameron took after him.

"Walking away from your problems, it's only going to get more complicated between us!" she said angrily as she entered his office. House stood at his window, overlooking the darkening clouds in the distance.

"House, you're never going to solve your problems. You're just going to fail your way up, and break everyone apart."

"Break _us _apart you mean. Well if you haven't noticed, there is no 'us!' There's just me and...well, Wilson, and he doesn't count.. And I don't need you for anything!" House snapped back so fast and violently that Cameron seemed fixed on her spot. Tears welled in her eyes and she fought them back.

"Well, if you ever need anything, _I _will be here for you."

Cameron silently opened the door and decided it was only best to leave him be.

Suddenly, a grinding pain centralized in House's abdomen. It ground harder and made him grit his teeth. Ignoring this would be no option. Pulling out his bottle of Vicodin, his hands became so shaky that he couldn't even pop the lid open. "Uh..." he sighed.

His vision blurred and his sights began to swim before his eyes.

"Ca...Cam...I think I'm hallucina..." Cameron was now nothing but a memory that had stood upon his door and begged for him to confront his feelings about, whatever...

The pain was throbbing now, like a scorpion in his belly. For House did not know, that the scorpion pain he had felt, had not leased his sting, a pain that would bring even the great and stubborn doctor House to his very knees.

Gregory House slumped back into his comfortable, sweat on his brow and his entire body.

_What the hell was that? _

He was thinking for once silently to himself, wonder what on earth could have caused him that much pain. Just as he was about to reach for his medicine bottle once more, Eric Foreman walked through the door.

"House, what is going on around here? We have a patient that is on the verge of death and Cameron is pissed off. Probably at you!" House was breathing heavily as if he'd just climbed a flight of stairs.

"Everything sounds normal to me."

"House, can't you just...Be nice to her?" It sounded like he was pleading. House used his cane to help him up off the chair. "Can't she stop being a pain in the-"

Another pain gripped at his abdomen and made House lose his breath. "Never mind." He hobbled out of the office as fast as he could, knowing that something screwy was going on with him. He never got sick, except for that cold one time, but usually he never got sick like this.

As he entered the room where usually, Cameron, Foreman, and Chase were all crowded around waiting for their assignment, he found it vacant. He examined the table, finding only a cell phone that looked as if it belonged to Cameron. It began chirping away and House had the sudden urge to see who was calling her during work. Why did he want to know so badly?

Was it a boyfriend?

A love interest?

He wanted to know, but as soon as he reached for it, another hand snatched it away and House stood back.

Allison Cameron shot him a glare and answered the phone.

"Hello!" her voice was sounding aggitated.

"Yes?...What are you talking about? When? Who? Who?...I don't know...I'll try...Talk to you later. Bye!" She hung up the phone and rubbed her eyes. "Who was that?"

"What?"

"Who?"

"It was a guy. Someone you don't know and don't need to be concerned about." Cameron walked out of the room, an extra step as she walked. Her mood had been a bit cheerful in her walk. Leaning on his cane with most of his weight, House glanced at the phone.

His fingers flew over the keys as fast as he could until coming to her previous call. Dialing it back he waited. It was a long distance call. As he waited for someone to answer, his heart beat faster and faster. Really, what was the matter with him?

Then a voice picked up and just as Gregory House was about to speak, it said, "Hi, you've reached Gregory Sanders. I'm not here right now, if this is urgent then you can reach me at the Las Vegas crime lab. Here comes the beep, hopefully you know what to do with it."

House snapped the phone shut and glanced through the glass doors at Allison Cameron who was speaking to a patient in a wheelchair. Thinking about the man she had talked to, he had a sudden feeling. A feeling that made his stomach ache slightly. There wasn't room for two Gregorys in here life.

Doing whatever he could to not question his feelings, House whispered, **_"Who Are You?"_**


	3. Who's Getting Hitched?

1**_Anatomy of a House _**

**written by **_lasloneitaliana _

House/CSI fanfiction

Genre: Mystery, Suspense, Romance, Comedy

Letter from author: I am so happy to finally get this going. It is a great honor to have everyone reading my stories. Also, I would like to thank InusDarkAngel, my friend since 7th grade, because she helped me formulate some wacky ideas. We brainstormed together. Thank you InusDarkAngel!

-lasloneitaliana

Disclaimer:  I do not own CSI or House. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfictions.

Thank you so much for all of the reviews. I greatly appreciate them! I will not reveal if I am a Cameron or House shipper or a Grissom/Sara shipper...it will keep you guessing. The rating might change a bit because of the symptoms House develops along the way...Certain rather...embarrassing symptoms.

...do I have you stoked yet? Read more to find out!

"Who am I? Come on! Guess."

"You're a CSI level two who's about to be put on decomp for a month." Gilbert Grissom, supervisor of the Las Vegas crime lab threatened. Greg Sanders, a CSI level two in training for a promotion, thought ahead to how his stomach would handle human decomposition.

"No, I am a CSI level two who just wrapped the case." He was so sure of himself that Gil Grissom knew there had to be a flaw in the work. No CSI should be completely certain that everything in the case was exactly the way it should be, perfect, without any mistakes. Should they? Greg was shifting from foot to foot after handing Grissom his case file. Anxious about how he would be graded.

This was Greg Sander's time to shine. A time for him to show his boss that he was the **_man,_** that he was the **_bomb, _**that he was the one that they could count on one hundred percent when someone was out sick or when someone needed a reference about a wonderful CSI named Gregory Sanders. Someone who they would write down in the newspaper, someone who they-

"This is great, but it doesn't prove motive." Grissom interrupted, breaking Greg out of his glorious daydream of having his name on a plaque.

"What?"

"What you're showing me here is just a bunch of information about how he killed him." Suddenly, Nick Stokes walked by, smirking at the thought of how Grissom was teaching Greg a lesson, just like he'd done to him when he was a level two.

"But I thought motive wasn't any of our business. I thought..." He trailed off knowing that his wonderful 'happy' feeling was now quickly vanishing. Clouds were moving in over his head and the rest of the day would be 'a load of crap.'

Without another word and knowing that he'd failed, Greg snatched the folder out of his boss's hand and turned on his heel to walk back down the hallway.

Grissom smirked and watched the level two walk down the hallway. He would need to teach him how to check his work over and over again. Actually, his case had been fine, but something in Gilbert Grissom drove him to keep from promoting Greg.

A few hours later, just as he Grissom was remembering he'd missed lunch and dinner, his cell began ringing and he answered it. It was Conrad Ecklie.

Yeah...

Grissom was concious of his messed up pepper gray curls, his wrinkled baggy clothes and the darkend circles under his eyes, but he didn't mind whatsoever.

The doorknob was icy could in his grip, matching the personality of the man who resided in this very office.

"Hello Grissom." His voice was sly and made Grissom feel slightly annoyed. Grissom sighed tiredly, "Hello Conrad. What may I help you with? Someone you want me to fire? A case you want reopened? A case you want me to close that's not finished yet?" Grissom's smart allecky comment did not bother the dayshift supervisor, besides, he'd treated his collegue the same way anyways.

"Actually, I wanted to invite you here to discuss a certain upcoming event."

Conrad Ecklie sat back in his large black chair feeling like some sort of god. His sly smile made most an irritated sensation, while most people where behind his back writing things on the stalls of the bathroom doors like:

For a good time call 342-9876

Ecklie's phone home number added for extra good measure. Personally one of Warrick's favorite pranks of all times.

Grissom snickered remembering the event. While Ecklie began speaking, Grissom poured himself a glass of water, knowing that more caffine would not do him any good at all.

"I heard through the grapevine of a certain marriage taking place soon." Ecklie chided.

Grissom sipped the Arctic cold water slowly, cherishing each sip as it cooled his insides and wet his dry, course lips.

"Marriage, Conrad?"

"Yes. Of two certain workers here. I believe they belong to you."

"Belong, Conrad?" Grissom was testing him.

"Yes. They work for you I believe." Ecklie was leaning forward on his desk, almost as if whispering his life's secret to his worst nemesis.

"Marriage is a basic fact of life. If what you are trying to describe is a group involvement, such as for friends and family, well, that's called a _wedding_."

"_Exactly_."

Grissom sipped his water once more, knowing what Ecklie wanted.

"Well? Am I invited? I mean, do I get to come? It is for collegues, right?" Ecklie shook his head and made Grissom smile.

"Conrad, you're the boss of dayshift. You broke up the team a year and a half ago, you made the bride and groom-to-be angry, you almost fired the maid of honor, you postponed the finding of the once buried Best Man, and you even wanted the flower girl to leave the building because she was a child. Conrad, I don't think anybody likes you. You're like the Darth Vader of this office building, except you're not my father and my love interest is not my sister."

Trying to not let his jaw fall slightly, Ecklie smiled slyly once more as Grissom stood up and decided to leave this man in his misery.

"So, I guess that would make you Jabba the Hut then. You're fat, ugly, and the rest of your followers are mutant pigs."

Grissom smiled, knowing that Ecklie's come back was in now way as good as his own.

"No, I think I'm Luke." He shook his head, assuring not only himself, but Ecklie that he was the "good" guy.

Grissom swung open the door, smiling along the way.

"Oh, Grissom?" Ecklie called, catching Grissom just before the night shift supervisor could secretly pat himself on the back. Grissom turned and looked at the man.

"Don't think I don't know about the other wedding."

"Other wedding, Conrad?"

Well, there went that pat on the back.

"The other wedding. The one I'm not supposed to know about?" Ecklie was up by one stroke now, and had Grissom at his throat.

"Oh, that one..." Grissom said.

"You mean, the other one you're not invited to either?" He raised his eyebrows and before Ecklie could work his improvisation skills at come backs, Grissom had vanished, knowing that when he got home that night, someone would give him more than just a pat-on-the-back.

Just as Gil Grissom pulled into the driveway of his townhouse, he had started to break out into a sweat that had dampened his brow and his clothes. He wiped his forehead and got out of the car, before locking it up with a bonafide "beep", and his field kit at his side.

When the door opened, was met with a hug that warmed him up from the inside, out. The tall brunette was holding a remote control and had matching darkening circles under her eyes like Grissom.

"How are you feeling?" He asked his 'love interest', Sara Sidle.

"Better..." Her voice came raspy and short and she coughed, making as disgusted face as she hacked up phlegm.

"Spit it out in the toilet."

Sara nodded and disappeared behind a corner on the other side of the room. Grissom waltzed over to his cd player, popping in some Frank Sinatra. As Sara came out to join him, Grissom took notice to how beautiful she looked-err...besides the red nose, cheeks, and messy hair. She was dressed in nothing but a long t-shirt that fell just above her knees. "You look beautiful."

"Oh, Gwissom...I'm nob in da mood. I hab a cold, you look tired, and all I wanted to do was watch a movie." She looked exhausted, and he couldn't blame her.

Not wanting to catch what she had, he walked to her, and gave in. He cupped both hands on the back of her neck, under her ears, and kissed her forehead.

"Whab to do you want to eat?" She asked him after he had kissed her. She walked to the couch and he loosened his tie, while shutting off the music.

"Anything you haven't touched." He teased.

She wiped her nose and picked out a DVD. "Your pick. Romeo and Juliet or Sleepless in Seattle?"

Grissom was in the kitchen now, pouring himself some Life cereal. "Romeo and Juliet." He announced.

"Sleepless in Seattle it is!" Sara shouted to him, as she popped the DVD in.

Grissom joined her on the couch and after a few bites of his cereal, he got up to put it in the sink.

"How cumb you're not eating?"

Grissom felt a sharp pain sear through his stomach. He winced and sat back down on the couch.

"Haven't been feeling good, probably caught it from your Biohazard side of the bed."

She smacked his leg and curled up to lay on his chest.

"I lub this movie." She said.

Grissom wasn't sure what that sharp pain was that had seared his chest. It had felt like a heated stoke had been inserted through his chest. The rest of the night was peaceful though. Sara had nestled on his chest, and Grissom had passed out in sleep, work clothes and all.

But Gil Grissom did not know what that terrible pain was, even after it had seared through him the following morning, only that it had been a terrible pain that was bringing him, the strong, sometimes cold hearted nightshift supervisor...to his knees.

**Thanks a million for the reviews! I love them so much! I'm writing this at 12:30 in the morning because I couldn't stop thinking about writing this! I will try to update when I get up tomorrow...er...today..Thanks again!**

**grissomsblueorbs/lasloneitaliana**

**P.S. I changed my penname from grissomsblueorbs to lasloneitaliana back to grissomsblueorbs...sorry for the confusion!**

**-grissomsblueorbs**


	4. What Symptoms?

1**_Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or House. If I did, I would be making tons of money and wouldn't be writing fanfictions._**

_**-grissomsblueorbs/lasloneitaliana**_

"My knees? What's wrong with my knees, exactly?" House was standing upright, balanced on his cane, knees shaking. He was dumbfounded at why he was being asked such an outrageous question. Chase was staring at his quivering boss, not sure if House was mentally stable or not.Looking down at his legs, House sighed.

"It's that damn Cuddy, the whole blow up thing with her today has me shaking in my shoes."

Chase rolled his eyes and took a seat at the conference table. There was nothing he wouldn't do for a few hours of sleep. Chase knew however, that House wouldn't let him blink an eye without his command.

"Do you want me to do an LP on him or not? That's all I came in to ask for."

House squinted his eyes, suddenly getting an odd warm sensation across his abdomen. He had a thirst that needed to be quenched, and sitting here, talking about Lumbar Punctures, wasn't going to satisfy him.

"How are the lymph nodes?"

"Swollen. And he has a one hundred and three temperature."

House began searching through his desk for some sort of liquid.

"Biopsy the liver. If there are any trace amounts of cyanide in his system, check the wife's cabinet. I'm sure she's just dying for him to get better. Only feed him when the wife's not around. His symptoms are consistent with poisoning. The liver would act as a grease trap and store all those yummy poisons. Check his fingernails too."

"For?"

"Stripes. If it's arsenic poisoning, then it will leave white stripes on his fingernails."

"Anything else?"

House smirked, "Check those hot buns she always brings in, then check the food."

Chase left, then smiled to himself later, having a late reaction to House's joke.

His head was throbbing and Ellen Degeneres wasn't helping.

"Come on...Let's put the check into the...machine and we get..." The television was blaring, and House was to lazy to turn it down. "Ok. Ok. We need to put the pin code in...Uh, turn around."

There was a roar of laughter.

"Not funny." House commented to himself. His feet were propped up on his desk, his blue eyes concentrating on the tube.

"And the amount is..." The drum roll made him dizzy.

"Two million, three hundred sixty thousand, four hundred and fifty six dollars and twenty six cents."

The audience rang out in cheers. House reached over and punched in a number on his phone, putting it on speaker phone.

"You have reached Dr. Cuddy's office. I'm not in right now, if the message is urgent you can page me at-"

Hanging up, Gregory House leaned back in his chair. Too tired to go get a bottle of water for himself.

"Wow! That's a lot of money. Everybody clap for themselves! That's a lot of money and it all goes to the helping the Katrina

victims."

Somewhere a glass door opened and a young woman stepped inside. House was off in the distance. Voices seemed like they were miles away and even when Allison Cameron touched his shoulder, he couldn't feel it.

"House..." She was miles away. The television was blurry. Ellen Degeneres was talking about something pertaining to Pierce Brosnan's new movie.

When Cameron touched his face, House came back to reality.

"What!" He shouted.

Cameron, startled, backed away and removed her glasses, feeling slightly flustered. House was out of breath and was sweating profusely.

"Sorry. I was..."

"Watching Ellen? I love this show. She's so funny. I watch it during my lunch break." She was bending down to look into his eyes.

"Your pupils are dilated. Are you experiencing an neurological symptoms?" House shook his head and Cameron stood to her full height.

"Do you want to go get something to eat? Your blood sugar might be low."

Gripping his cane, House stood and hobbled for his coat. He smiled when he realized how concerned Cameron was over him. How pathetic. Strangely, House took Cameron's invitation and slung his coat over his shoulders.

"I thought you were mad at me."

"Cuddy explained the whole thing. The baby thing, the sperm thing, the whole she-bang."

Cameron had to admit, she wasn't as mad as she was earlier. But she would always be angry with House no matter what. Why should this make any difference?

Making their way down the hall, Cameron's cell phone began ringing once more. House eyed her suspiciously, knowing that this whole go-out-to-lunch-to-find-out-about-the-other-Greg-scheme, was going to work after all.

"Dr. Cameron speaking?"

"Didn't you see my name on your cell phone screen? You don't have to answer it like that. You could call yourself Alison, like you used to do when we were kids. Is it that hard?" Greg Sanders questioned as he walked through the hallways of the Las Vegas crime lab.

"I'm just acting professionally." Alison Cameron answered, rolling her eyes as she listened to her cousin.

"We're cousins."

"So?" Her voice was a bit to loud.

House eyed her. They were almost to the car now and she hadn't said anything to him.

"What happened to how you used to answer the phone? You used to call me Greggo and answer your phone and talk to me even during work, and you never got into trouble. Remember?" Greg questioned, teasing his cousin.

"It was my first time Greg." She replied.

House bumped up against he car horn accidentally startled.

"I was never shy, you know that." She said into the phone.

"Ya, remember auntie Meg's surprise birthday you and I threw?"

Cameron laughed, while House concentrated on driving in silence.

_Enough of the perverted memories,_ House thought. As he began backing out of the garage, his hands began shaking and his head began spinning.

"I know. I know. We'll have to get together again."

Cars blurred and noises subsided.

"Ca..Camer..." His leg throbbed and he felt a sting in his stomach. It was burning now. Like a hot iron.

"I love you too. Talk to you later." As she tucked her phone into her purse, she didn't hear House murmuring.

"Cam, get a doctor...I think I'm..."

But doctor Gregory House never finished what he was trying to say. The front of the car smashed into the back of an SUV.

Even as Cameron dialed nine one-one and tried to bring House back to a state of consciousness, she couldn't help but think that she was losing him.

"Wake up! What do you think you're doing? This isn't some sort of romance novel. Get your head out of the clouds. Don't you have something better to do?"

"Nope." Sara Sidle reassured Gil Grissom. He'd woken her up to kiss her goodbye before going to work. He looked better than he had the night before. Although, the same couldn't be said for Sara. She was still in her tee-shirt and her face was blotchy from a high fever. Grissom was tucking his phone away and had his field kit in hand.

"Greg wrapped the case and said he has a new one for us."

Sara looked astonished. "Gweg is giving you a case?

"Ya, I thought it would be good for him. Besides, this case is kind of personal for him. I thought that'd be good. Get a taste of reality. I don't like how he's been succeeding in everything lately."

"No," Sara began. "You just don' like someone bein' better than you."

Grissom smiled slightly. "Ya..whatever." But just as he was about to leave, Sara raised her hoarse voice.

"Wait, aren't you going to fill me in?"


	5. Are You Completely Corrupt?

1

It was true. Exactly how anyone had predicted. Even Gil Grissom himself knew that it really hadn't been true, and he had been right all along.

At his side, sat a very weary, overly exerted, night of the living dead,-Sara Sidle.

Her hair was frizzy, and the dark circles under her eyes had finally enveloped and engulfed her eyes completely. She was slumped against the car in a fashion that matched her sick body, and she had soon forgotten how to breathe through her nose.

It was horrible that she was coming along under such conditions. What was she thinking?

But Gil Grissom wasn't complaining. He'd missed her by his side, her light touch on his shoulder or side as she passed. A secret gesture between the two of their inconspicuous relationship. Nobody knew and they wanted to keep it that way, at least for the time being.

New Jersey Hospital:

Cameron fell against the wall just as the stretcher containing House disappeared down the hallway. Her left eye was swollen shut and somewhere in her cranium, blood was being lost.

"Help...him..." She had said, just before blacking out. Now everything was dark and. her body felt as if it was contained in a vat of jello. Her arms were weightless and her mind drifted from here, to there.

Nobody would help her. She wobbled back through the lobby and out into the parking lot where someone was about to tow her car. The big metal mass was starting to draw away.

"No, no! Please, my purse is still in the..." The tow truck stopped. Blood was drying in her hair now and she winced in pain.

"Listen lady," a heavily obese man in about his fifties, began. But when he caught a glimpse of her he quickly let her grab her things.

After a wrench and jackhammer, the door was pried open and Cameron quicky scanned the scene. Purse, beeper, cell phone, House's water bottle. Her throat ached at the thought of some kind of liquid penetrating her dry and cracked throat.

Afterward, as the tow truck began driving away, a bionic coroner taking away the metal corpse of her once beloved Mini Cooper, she took one long swig of the water, emptying the contents.

Cameron was suddenly taken away from this hellish nightmare at the thought that her lips had just touched something that had once touched House's.

House.

God, she hoped he was going to be ok.

Well, at least that was her last thought, before she collapsed in the middle of the ICU.


	6. Expecting Something?

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or House M.D. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfictions. I'd be dining in fine resteraunts with the cast of CSI to my right and House to my left. )**

**I hope you all enjoy the next chapter even though it took me ages to post! This one is probably my favorite chapter so far. Enjoy!**

**ICU: Jersey Hospital**

**Time: 8:57 p.m.**

**Friday, Nov. 24th, 2006**

"Have you engaged in any sexual activity over the last forty eight hours?"

"No."

"Have you taken any perscription drugs over the last year and a half?"

_**Yes.**_

"No.

"Sir, I can't help you if you don't help me."

House was tired of this. The constant nagging of questions was about as painstaking as an extraction of a tumor.

Beside him he could hear opposite of the curtain, a gurney being wheeled in. There was a shuffle of feet and questions being asked repeatedly. There was a heavy silence in the room before the pudgy nurse before him, decided to continue upon her rant of endless questions.

"Have you had an increase in stress as of lately?"

House sighed and began to scoff at her with yet another smart-ass comment, when he realized he had lost his voice. He tried again and again to speak, his comment being swallowed. He pointed at his throat, showing the woman that he couldn't speak. She nodded and left, coming back with a cup of crushed ice. This was just...perfect.

Not only was he under the care of his workers, he couldn't talk to insult them, and he knew that without his power, his workers had the advantage to get back at him.

That they had their chance for...**_revenge._**

**CSI: Headquarters**

**1:08 a.m.**

**Friday Nov. 24th, 2006**

"Sara, are you...ok?"

Sara hadn't moved for the last twenty minutes. Catherine hadn't taken notice really, until there was no response to, "How do you think he was poisoned?"

Before Catherine was a stack of papers all recently faxed from New Jersey. Sara had taken particular interest in the case, until about twenty minutes ago.

Catherine pushed Sara's hair aside and felt her forehead.

"Sara, you're running a fever."

Sara picked her head up off of the table and looked at Catherine with a puzzled expression. "What?"

Her face was a sickly green and Catherine was suddenly concerned. "Sara you need to go home, I don't think you-"

Sara was gone, racing down the hallway into the women's lavatory. Catherine ran after her, suddenly worried that this wasn't just a cold...

Horrible noises echoed off of the tiled walls as Sara emptied whatever was left of her so-called breakfast, down the toilet. Catherine leaned against the sink and tucked her hair behind her ears. When Sara came out of the stall, her face was ashen and silent. She washed her face and gurgled some water before running her hands through her hair and resting on the floor against the wall.

"Just a cold, huh?" Catherine questioned, suddenly recognizing these familiar symptoms.

Sara peered up at her collegue, worried.

"Is there a little something you wanna tell me, Sara?" Catherine was asking what she already knew. She just wanted to hear it from Sara herself. A bonifide confrimation of what she already knew to be true. If that made sense at all.

"I've been having a relationship with Grissom for a while now. We've kept it a secret because well...duh..."

Catherine nodded.

"One day about a year ago, we had this tough case and it hit him pretty hard in the gut. I think...I think he just figured that life is just too damn short not to live it to its fullest. So, he showed up at my door one day and told me that he loved me and..."

Catherine's eyebrow raised slightly. "Really? So, how's the..?"

Sara laughed, "Still waters run deep with that man. He's...well, he's Grissom. He's a romantic, he's perfect." Catherine smiled and kneeled down beside Sara, knowing that she had to tell her something. Something that Sara had to know about her illness. That this wasn't just any ordinary ailment. She took Sara's hands in her's and smiled a weakly.

"And you haven't told Ecklie I'll assume."

"The relationship or being sick?"

Catherine chuckled, "Both?" Sara shook her head, sniffling and adjusting her position.

"I don't think you're going to keep it a secret for much longer, you should tell him." Catherine's eyes were watering.

"Cath! It's just a cold and Grissom said that it'll only last about another week!" Sara was laughing at how absurd this conversation was. Catherine though, was smiling through tears.

"I don't think it'll last a week, more like nine months..."

That night Sara took a long shower. Not the usual short ones, lasting only about a meer twenty minutes. This one lasted for about an hour. She washed in the intricate places she never really took notice of. For example, between her toes and fingers and under her fingernails. Shaving was like artwork, a slow process that she could have sworn lasted about fifteen minutes. She watched the water swirl under her feet, wondered what kinds of biological elements were washing away. Teenie tiny pieces of her, of Grissom.

Grissom was like a disease. A good disease. He had taken root under her skin, and over her heart. Sara knew she couldn't be happier. After all of those years of wanting and loving, she finally had what she had wanted for so long, and she was loving it. She scrubbed her shoulders and neck, where Grissom had kissed his signature deep into her skin.

She washed behind her ears and the backs of her legs, smiling all the while. It was nice knowing that she could use all the soap in the world and still not scrub Grissom off her skin. She wet her sponge and rubbed it against a fresh chunk of soap, soaking in the scent of something that smelled of tea roses.

She ran it over her face and into her hair, careless. It was wonderful how she smelled of Grissom. His soapy sudsy scent that captivated her.

She ran the sponge over her belly and then stopped. Her stomach lurched at the exciting thought before her. It was like being in love for the first time, or kissing Grissom for the first time.

Grissom had taken more than root under her skin, a biological piece of him had become apart of her. She shivered in the volcano heat of the water and mist around her. She didn't know what to do, who to talk to, what she should do about her job. But so far, that didn't matter now...

Suddenly, she had the urge for chocolate cake...(god, that sounded fantastic right about now...)

Sara wrapped her arms around herself, excited, afraid, terrified. She let out a high pitched squeak. She covered her mouth when she heard someone entering the bathroom.

"Grissom?" She called, placing her hand on her stomach, as if sheilding herself away from the heavy footsteps nearby.

"Hey sweetheart, sorry you had to go home early. Probably was for the better. How are you feeling?"

Sara had forgotten about everything, and suddenly felt extremely afraid. _What would Grissom say?_

"I'm...I'm O.K." She choked out, panicked. Grissom's ears perked up at the sound of Sara's voice.

"Are, are you sure? You sound shaken up." Grissom was taking off his tie, throwing it down on the sink and stretching in the steamy sauna of the room. "Ya, ya, I'm fine..but, I would be a lot better if..."

Grissom turned to the curtain behind him. "If?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I would be tons better if you got in here with me."

**Las Vegas Crime Lab: HQ**

**Evidence Room #2**

**5:24 a.m. (End of Shift)**

Catherine's hands skimmed over the vast pages of recorded history. This guy definitely had a drug addiction going on. He had a failed marriage, and a practice. A bad leg with a cane that he always used. His addiction was stimulated by his accustomed taste to Vicodin.

Placing her reading glasses on, Catherine immersed herself in the ocean of text. Waves of black and white that filtered through her mind. The victim, Gregory House, was interesting. Well, he was pretty _damn _interesting if he could keep her attention at the end of shift. He was being poisoned. But by whom?

There were plenty of suspects, everyone in the world at the moment.

"You know what, if you don't like it, then I'll move out! Yes, _I'll move out!_" Warrick burst through the doors of the Evidence room, cell phone in hand and temper sky high.

Catherine had jumped at the sound of him coming in and pushed the pregnancy test box that had purchased for Sara earlier, deeper into her purse beside her.

She had been on her way home when the case suddenly spiked her interest. Home to Lindsey. Lindsey had been improving as of lately. Things had been extremly tough for her daughter recently, and now it seemed as if things were finally calming down. Finally.

The platinum blonde replica of a younger Catherine Willows, had rebelled her way through life so far, but nowadays she was finally settling down.

Catherine jumped once more when Warrick woke her of her thoughts of Lindsey.

"Son of a...I mean..." Warrick pounded the table and rested his head on top of the lighted surface.

"Need to talk?"

Warrick looked up at Catherine, trying not to fall once more into a drunken daze of Catherine's beauty. She smiled as her honey colored hair caught in the flecks of the light, giving her a sort of halo above her head. Warrick's eyes were shaded by dark circles, and all he could do was smile, weakly.

"It's Tina. She said she doesn't like my hours. I talked to Ecklie about giving me some flexible time, but he told me he found out who wrote that thing on the wall of the stall in the men's bathroom." He sighed and chuckled. Catherine just laughed.

"She's moving out." Warrick said finally, after the laughter had settled. The brickwall of his future settled in front of him and he hit it hard. His stomach dropped and his head began throbbing. Catherine although, felt as if she had just some sort of release.

"I'm so sorry Warrick." She apologized, not exactly meaning it in the back of her head. "Sometimes it just...Doesn't work out. Maybe you should just get away for a while, you know, take a leave of absense."

"Oh!" Warrick dug into his pocket suddenly, and after a few moments, pulled out a handful of plane tickets.

"I almost forgot, thanks for reminding me. I got those tickets to Jersey today. Grissom said he'd have Sara ready to go in the next forty eight hours, Greg's ready to go when we're ready and-"

"Hey," Catherine's stomach plummeted.

"How'd you know about Griss and Sa-"

"Catherine," Warrick began, arching an eyebrow, lowering his voice and scooting closer to her. "I think by now, everyone knows. They may have not exclusively seen it like I have, but they've picked up on the signals. Even Ecklie."

"Even..." Catherine gulped. "Even Ecklie?" Warrick nodded in response.

"Ecklie talked to me about it. He told me he knew."

Catherine shivered. "What do you think he'll do?" She asked anxiously, growing scared for the couple.

"I don't know," Warrick sighed. "I just don't know."

There was a long painful, drawn out silence between the two, and it was up to Catherine to break it.

"You saw them, exclusively?" Warrick laughed. "You know how Doc Robbins takes an hour break to go home and check on his Siamese kittens he keeps breeding?"

Catheirne choked out a laugh. "But in the morgue?"

"Hey, it's amazing what two people will do when they're in love," Warrick pulled a backpack from under the Evidence table and slung it on his back. Catherine slung her purse over her shoulder, all the while, thinking of Warrick's previous statement.

"Ya, Warrick, I guess it is amazing."

**New Jersey Hospital I.C. U.**

**10:54 a.m.**

The thick bandage around her head, prevented the phone from reaching her ear. She gripped the plastic receiver harder, until it cut into her flesh.

"When are you coming?" Her voice was urgent and she hoped the person on the other line would hurry their reply.

"I'm coming on the next flight out, actually...My whole team is coming."

Something collapsed inside Allison Cameron. "You're whole CSI team? Wh...Why? Do you have a case here?"

Greg Sanders leaned against the side of his car, his cell phone cradled between his chilled ear and hand. "I can't discuss any informa-"

"Greg! Tell me now!" Her voice was so high pitched it sqeaked.

Greg sighed heavily and entered his car, locking his doors. "It is under suspicion that someone you're working with is poisioning Dr. House. Your boss. We're still investigating the whole matter, but we think that maybe you've been poisoned too."

"Me?!" Her voice was ecstatic.

"We're still not sure yet. But-"

There was a loud clang along Cameron's bedside that made her jump. "Hey, Greg?"

Her cousin answered caustiously, "Ya? What is it?"

"I'll call you back."

In a matter of meer seconds, she had turned the phone off and ripped open the curtain that separated her from another patient.

"House?!"

Before her, House looked shocked, his eyes bulging and looking like a deer in the headlights. He tried to find words to mutter, but couldn't say a word because of his absense of voice. Instead, he pointed at her cell phone with an exasperated look.

He wanted to know who she had been talking to, and about what subject matter. Cameron thought back to what Greg had said. The information he had shared with her could be jeopordized if told to anyone, and he had already told her. Thinking quickly, Cameron replied, "It's none of your business. Who cares anyway? You obviously don't!"

Nearby, a nurse viewed them with Oncologist, James Wilson. He was a private man, who had a poetic nature. He was also House's only friend. He crossed his arms over his chest and just shook his head, watching the two doctors fight. He snickered at the thought of his friend acting like...Like he always did.

It was a shame though that Wilson's practice would be shut down. It was all House's fault anyway.

After he had pissed off that police officer, the man had made it his soul duty to get revenge on House. That meant getting to House through Wilson. So far, the man was doing one hell of a job. He'd frozen Wilson's bank accounts, blackmailing him.

House had just been House. He'd not cared one bit. He was treating Wilson the same way he treated all of his patients. Wilson wanted to be his friend but knew that it was only a matter of time before the final string had been cut and their friendship was broken.

"I think they're improving." The nurse finally said, just before shuffling away.

"It's only going to get worse," Wilson whispered to himself.

A hand settled on his shoulder and he relaxed against it, cheerful at the fact that someone was actually caring.

Soft, urgent words brushed against his ear, "I need to tell you something, now." Wilson turned to find Cuddy. Her face was tear-stricken and her body was wracked by shivers. "Dr. Cuddy?"

"Wlison..." She cried, falling into his arms. He pushed her back and looked around, trying to find a place for them to talk.

He ushered her inside of House's office, and closed the blinds to the windows.

"What's the matter, are you OK?"

Obviously she wasn't.

"Oh, Wilson, it's all my fault..." His eyes grew as big as saucers. "What is?"

He knew it was all a risk, that his job was being jeopordized, but right now he didn't care. The surface below him rumbled and his heart beat faster. Sweat drenched him through and through, and it was the sudden twinge in his chest that made him think that maybe, this was all a mistake.

The aircraft ascended into the air carrying Greg Sanders, and his trusty field kit. His other belongings wouldn't have to be stored in the belly of the plane. They were all packed in the storage bin above him.

Two young women in the row beside him began whispering, and Greg could only guess that it was about him. Maybe it was because of his funky bed-head hairdo, or the field kit laying peacefully in his lap, or how his eyes were bloodshot. Greg, closed his eyes and leaned his seat back gently. His lower right cervical spinal area was throbbing. He turned the the left then the right, urging his poor, tired bones to crack. When they did, he tried to then fall asleep and forget about his current problem. This was going to be a tough case. His team had been procrastinating for a while and now with his favorite cousin sick, he didn't know what to do.

Allison was like a sister to him. She'd always been the youngest in the family, but always so sweet. She'd been there to comfort him when his parents had gotten divorced, or when their Papa Olaf had been diagnosed with cancer. She'd always been there for him, and now it was his turn to return the favor.

When a hand gently touched his, he awoke and stared back into two deep chocolate eyes.Greg cleared his throat and took in the profile of the young woman before him. Her hair fell a little past her shoulders, so brown, it appeared black. She was tall and lean, and as she smiled, Greg caught sight of a very small gap between her two front teeth.

"Excuse me, but are you a CSI?"

Greg blinked, not registering the words passing from her to him. "What?"

"My friend Rachel and I were wondering if you happened to be a CSI. We're CSI's-in-the-making. We're actually on our way to New Jersey for Christmas break. That's where Rachel's from.

Behind her, sat another woman who appeared slightly younger, and blonde. Faintly reminding him of Catherine Willows. She waved to him and took a sip of her ginger-ale. Both girls were flustered slightly. They're cheeks turning a slightly darker shade of pink.


End file.
